


Ego

by VolxdoSioda



Series: Kinktober 2019 [14]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Kinktober Day 14: Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 08:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21194471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: Noctis travels to Ravatogh.





	Ego

It isn’t easy slipping away from the Citadel for long periods of time. Inevitably, someone on duty recognizes Noctis’ absence, and goes to fetch him back. But Noctis has discovered if he gets a head start during a time he’s expected to be off work or school, he can get ahead of the race before everyone comes fleeing after him to haul him back.

Granted, it’s easier when the location of his desires is close by; Ravatogh might as well be a world away, but Noctis still fights for every chance to slip away. He knows he gives Ignis regular heart attacks, and his father must be asking what on earth he’s doing at a  _ volcano  _ of all things, but this is too important not to take care of. 

The Infernian, in all his quiet, simmering rage at humanity, is too important not to take care of.

It’s dark when Noctis manages to slip away this time; Ignis and Gladio had dragged Prompto over the night before for a night of movies and sweets and general bonding, but they’d all been completely exhausted by the time the last movie had stopped, and Noctis had almost slept past his alarm. But he hadn’t, and he’d managed to get his pre-packed bag out without waking anyone up - it probably helped that Gladio was snoring like a Behemoth in the guest bedroom, and Prompto naturally slept deep, unbothered unless deliberately woken. 

And so begins another lone trip out to the volcanic wastes, where the air grows blisteringly hot on the worst days, and people give the volcano a wide, wide berth. Even the stores down below have talked about moving shop recently, and a few already have. Those that remain are used to Noctis now, just see him as another tourist that comes by regularly. 

Noctis doesn’t check the phone as he drives, and he doesn’t answer any texts. Even though, close to five AM, he receives a text from Ignis, and then a call, followed by several more texts. By the time Noctis makes Ravatogh, Gladio and Prompto have both woken, and the cavalry has been alerted. Within a few hours, someone is going to be arriving to drag Noctis back.

He doesn’t bother trying to hide the car when he parks it. He hikes up the short distance to the volcano, slips in through a hole in the fence, and starts climbing. 

As always, it’s intimidating. It’s exhausting and dirty, and Noctis aches in every part of his body before he even gets halfway. But he keeps going, because he knows he’s the only thing standing between the Infernian and another war against Humanity, and unlike before humans won’t just cower away if the Gods clash. They’ll actively get involved - and Niflheim has anti-god tech now, capable of easy murder of celestial beings. The last thing Noctis needs is Bahamut coming for the humans he once swore to protect. 

So he climbs a volcano every so often, to converse with the lonely, exiled fire God resting in it’s depths. 

As always, the Infernian knows of his presence long before Noctis sees or hears anything. The heat edges off, becoming something softer, less a threat and more a cautious warning. Noctis stumbles a couple times, almost sliding off an edge once, and he swears the ground shifts beneath to catch him before he gets too far. 

By the time he reaches the God of Fire, lounging in the uppermost part of the volcano, he is well and truly soaked to the bone with his own sweat, covered in dirt, ash and grime. Red eyes peer up at him when Noctis sits himself near the edge of the massive crater that comprises the Infernian’s resting place. The Roc is nowhere to be seen today, but it’s nest is full of eggs, so it can’t be far. Noctis takes a couple quick swigs of water to clear his throat, and then speaks softly in Old Solheimian.  _ “This one humble apologies for the trespass upon your home, Firebringer.” _

The Infernian is oddly still, the lava only risen up to his hips today. It seems since last they spoke, he’s calmed somewhat. A good sign.  ** _“The impertinent one is forgiven,” _ ** he replies, quieter than usual.  ** _“This God would speak to you of things.”_ **

_ “This one would listen, O God of Fire,”  _ Noctis offers, and tucks himself up to do just that.

Ifrit doesn’t speak of his own feelings concerning matters very often. In that way, he reminds Noctis of Ignis, stilted and formal even with his own experiences unless coaxed out of him. The difference being that Ifrit remains at a cool distance from his own emotions unless it concerns Shiva - and perhaps, if Noctis is bold enough to assume, himself. 

Today, Ifrit tells him of pain, a deep, unending ache he can feel at all hours, owing to Niflheim’s recent digs into sections of their own dormant volcano, now capped by several layers of snow. It’s an old, ancient place, Ifrit informs him, requiring a lot of energy to fill and send spilling out. Too much now to do so, when most of mankind has chosen to situate itself elsewhere. But they’ve dug out much of the old earth there, filling it with something that makes Ifrit’s teeth ache and his skin break out in ugly blisters and what look like chemical burns. 

_ “If it is not too arrogant, may this one see these wounds, Lord of Flame?”  _ Noctis asks, and it’s a surprise when Ifrit shrugs one shoulder, and lifts one of his arms up so Noctis can see. There, from about his elbow all the way down to his forearm, is a series of ugly green and black burn-like marks. 

Noctis knows it  _ is  _ arrogant, to stretch out a small hand to touch, and then dig within himself for a power granted by Ifrit’s own oppressor, to heal. But he does it anyway, and black brows come together in confusion, the arm twitching but not shifting away, no fire and flame leaping up to consume him as Noctis feels his way through the connection as best he can, purging the sickness as far back as he can reach. Granted it isn’t much in the long run; all it really does is turn the green fainter green and lessen some of the smaller wounds. 

But the Infernian looks at the act with something like quiet consideration, and says,  ** _“Numb. Decently so,” _ ** and Noctis feels his stomach flip. 

The Infernian doesn’t give compliments like humans do. The Gods have no need for such things. But they understand the concept of give and take, free will and compassion, to a point. Empathy, in some cases. And Ifrit, more than most, understands that humans give praise to creatures who have helped them. 

Noctis doesn’t want to say he’s developed a complex, or even an eagerness to work towards earning soft words from the fallen fire god, but… well, if he said anything else, he’d be lying. 

So when halfway through their talks, Ifrit nonchalantly lifts a hand to curl around him, protecting him from the back, Noctis thinks nothing of it. Not until he realizes the God hasn’t shifted his gaze from the top of the area behind him in several moments, and then he remembers he was supposed to have people coming after him.

It’s clear Ignis and Gladio and the Glaive that have decided to come with have no idea what to do. Their gazes are bewildered, terrified in a few cases, but they’re not drawing close. Not speaking or trying to haul Noctis away in a fit of fright. Noctis just nods to them for the moment to show he knows they’re there, and goes back to listening to Ifrit speak of smaller, stranger things. 

It’s another hour, before the Infernian finally says,  ** _“That will do. This God is tired. Leave us, impertinent one.”_ **

_ “As You command.”  _ He bows himself low, pressing forehead to earth as he always does, and then shifts back. He doesn’t get far before a long finger strokes down his back, gentle, and the Infernian’s words rumble around him.

** _“The last command. This God finds you pleasing, and strong. Do not fall off and die, mortal. If This God must crawl down to the underworld and Raise you, you will not like it. Be safe, little King.”_ **

Noctis makes the sort of undignified noise only a human might grasp, and bows his head again, a silent  _ understood  _ that he knows Ifrit understands. Then the God draws back, disappearing back down into his home, and Noctis gathers his things and forces his gaze to lock to the ground as he rejoins the others.

“So,” Gladio says, as casually as someone faced with the sight of his Prince talking to a literal  _ God  _ can, “You wanna translate that last part? Cause your face? Super red right now.”

“Please tell me he didn’t proposition you,” Ignis says, although he looks just as worried. “It might be flattering, but please think with your higher brain, Noctis.”

“He-- no.” Noctis gets out. Even now, he can hear Ifrit’s voice in his head, saying  ** _pleasing and strong _ ** and his stomach explodes into more butterflies, skin shivering with delight. Fuck.  _ Fuck  _ he is so fucking weak, he is so utterly  _ fucked.  _ He doesn’t know what he’d do if Ifrit actually fucking  _ liked  _ him. Six, he’s screwed. “Um. We were just, talking.”

“Yeah, we got that part.” Gladio’s not put off. “Seriously though, translation.”

“He called you strong,” One of the Glaives behind him says, and Noctis makes another undignified noise, burying his face in his hands as Gladio’s eyebrows go up. “And… peaceful? What? I took Old Solheimian in college. Sue me.”

“Nobody ever takes Old Solheimian in college,” Someone else snorts.

“Pleasing,” Noctis grits out, feeling like his face is fixing to combust. “Strong and pleasing.”

There’s a beat of silence as everyone digests that. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist.

“Well,” Ignis says at last, and pats him on the shoulder, gentle-like. Noctis is pretty sure the muffled noise he makes then is a sob. He’s not sure what’s worse - the understanding, or the fact that it’s been outed he’s weak at the knees for  _ praise  _ from  _ Ifrit. _

“You know, most people start with  _ humans,”  _ Gladio nudges him, amused. “Trust you to aim higher. Good job, Prince Charmless.”

“Gladio,” Ignis scolds. His cheeks are pink. He’s clearly doing his best not to embarrass Noctis further. “That’s quite enough now.”

“You realize we have to tell the King. He needs to know why Noct is always off at that volcano now.”

“Oh hell,” Noctis wheezes, and he whirls on Gladio, who’s grinning wide. “You bastard. You utter  _ asshole.” _

“On the bright side, peacemaking efforts have never looked so positive.”

“Ignis, let me borrow your knives. I want to see something.”

“No, and no. Gladio, cease and desist. Noctis, calm down. Honestly. We’ll just say that you and the Infernian have been speaking. We needn’t bring in the sordid little details.”

“Bless you, Ignis. My one true friend.”

Ignis keeps to his word. Regis is certainly  _ startled  _ to hear the Infernian is the one Noctis has been seeing all this time, and Noctis gets the distinct impression he suspects there’s more, but he doesn’t push for it.

Gladio, on the other hand, goes out and buys him a  _ Hot For the Infernian  _ tee from Six knows where, and teases him that he should wear it the next time he visits. 

Noctis warp-tackles him to the mat, and Cor sighs and walks over to detach them before they can kill each other.


End file.
